The Heart Grows Fonder
by Story Please
Summary: Hermione is about to go mad with the frustration of having to watch all of her friends snog themselves silly while she is left alone with her books. Will the mysterious boy she meets in the Room of Requirement help her soothe her wounded heart, or is he just a figment of her imagination?


Author's Note: Written for Round 5 of the QLFC

Team: Pride of Portree

Position: Captain

Captain Prompt: Red rose (as inspired by Rose Weasley): Write about a character in love during their time at school.

Word Count (excluding Author's Note): 2948

* * *

 **The Heart Grows Fonder**

"I'm not going to cry. I'm not. I'm _not_." Hermione repeated the words over and over to herself like a spell.

With a final shuddering breath, she composed herself and started to climb the stairs.

"You idiot," she mumbled. "There's no way he'll ever feel like _that_ about you."

* * *

Hermione had been halfway through her homework when she looked up and noticed that she was the only one who hadn't paired off. She glared at Harry and Ginny, who had obliviously rolled over on her book bag and spilt its contents out on the floor. She eventually had to pull her Advanced Potions book from their tangle of legs before leaving in a huff for the refuge of the library.

Sadly, this also was not to be, as Hermione had only just taken her books out of her bag when she heard a giggle that immediately set her teeth on edge. She'd heard a lot of that particular giggle lately as it escaped the smug lips of Lavender Brown.

"Oh Ron!" said that infuriatingly breathless voice. "No! We mustn't!"

There was a sharp cracking sound. Hermione looked down to see that she'd been clenching her fist so tightly that one of her favourite quills had snapped in half. She mended it quickly with her wand and shoved her books back into her bag.

"We're going to get caught," Ron whispered, but he was giggling too, and then there was the unmistakable, wet sound of—

Hermione covered her ears and fled with her eyes locked on the library doors. Her imagination, however, kicked into overdrive. Every possible thing that Ron and Lavender could get caught doing together played like a heart-wrenching movie in her head.

She only hoped that the two of them knew how to cast a Contraceptive Charm, but she didn't dare go back to ask.

* * *

Her feet led her up the moving staircases, but she baulked at the stairs to Gryffindor Tower. True, she could practically guarantee her privacy if she climbed on top of her bed and shut the curtains, but she'd still have to make it past Snog City, and after her experience in the library, she wasn't sure her heart could take it.

Hermione leaned against the wall, ignoring the sympathetic looks of the paintings above her; even the three trolls in tutus paused in their pliés.

"I'm fine!" she shouted, hating the fact that the portraits felt sorry for her. "I just need a place to study!"

She grabbed her Potions textbook, shaking it at the trolls. "See? I need to focus on what's important!"

Silently, she thought, 'and get my mind off of Ron and his simpering groupie.'

A pulse of magic from behind her made Hermione go silent. She turned her head to see a large, curved silver door set seamlessly into the stone wall.

Hermione grinned. "I can't believe I forgot! The Room of Requirement is the perfect place to study _uninterrupted_."

Stuffing her book back in her bag, she opened the door.

Inside, she found a room that seemed to be part common room and part classroom. One side was covered with plush, black velvet couches and chairs, while the other side was set up with wooden tables and stools.

"Do you mind?" a grumpy male voice called out. "You're creating a draft!"

Hastily, Hermione slammed the door behind her, wincing at the reverberation of the sound.

"I suppose that's what we get for relying on magic." There was a casual tone to his voice that filled Hermione with curiosity.

As she stepped forward, a tingling sensation swept over her. The Room was using its magic on her. At first, she drew her wand, but then a mirror appeared before her, and she saw that she was now wearing a gryphon mask and feather headdress. It obscured the top of her head and most of her face down to her mouth. It even covered her nose with a curving, golden beak. Though the mask did not obstruct her movement or vision in the way she expected it to, all attempts to remove it were futile.

"Fine, then," she said exasperatedly to the Room.

"I hope that wasn't aimed at me."

Hermione jumped.

"Er, no," she managed awkwardly, looking up at the tall, lanky boy who stood before her. He smirked, the top part of his face hidden by a frighteningly realistic basilisk mask. Long, silvery fangs trailed down his cheeks, and a bright—red feather stood at attention on top of his head.

"Let me guess," he said, "Gryffindor?"

"How did you know?" As soon as she said it, Hermione felt stupid. She basically had a giant gryphon head, courtesy of the Room of Requirement. It was painfully obvious.

"Slytherin, then?" she replied, trying to sound casual.

He nodded. "Anyway, I need to work with a partner for this potion. Slughorn was adamant that the upcoming test would be based on a random pairing in class to prevent cheating, and I assume that you're as random as they get."

Hermione frowned at him. His voice sounded somehow familiar, but she couldn't quite place it. He wasn't in her class, that was certain. Slughorn's Advanced Potions classes would be doing a random doubles brewing test later on that month. It was supposed to evaluate one's skill and ability to work as a team, which would be essential in any career path that required advanced potions training. Hermione had been dreading it, which was why she'd put off the review until last. She knew neither Ron nor Harry would help her. The mental images of her best friends snogging rose up before her, and she shook her head to clear them away.

"Seventh year, then?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said, "Not that it means anything to you."

"And what is _that_ supposed to mean?" Hermione's voice grew shrill.

He snorted and turned back to his work, leaving Hermione so surprised that her indignation drained away. "Let's make a simple potion first. I estimate that Slughorn will choose moderately simple-to-evaluate potions that have distinctive colours, smells, or viscosities when brewed correctly."

It was Hermione's turn to snort with laughter. "That's because he's an unmitigated lazy arse."

"Indeed."

Hermione looked at the book he'd laid out on the table. The pages were worn around the edges, and there were scrawled, spidery notes in the margins. Hermione did not approve of this. She kept her books pristine and used notebooks with carefully divided sections clearly labelled with colourful tabs. She pulled out her book and notes to demonstrate this fact.

"Hmph. Show-off."

Again, she was struck by his familiar way of speaking with her, despite never having met her before. It was almost as though he were talking to himself.

"I shudder to think of what you'll call me when I tell you that Slughorn most likely will decide between the Pepper-Up Potion and the Potion for Dreamless Sleep," Hermione replied loftily.

"And how could you know that?" He fixed her with a keen stare.

Before Hermione could react, he pressed a finger firmly against her cheek. "Curious."

"What's curious?" Hermione asked, reaching up to rub her cheek.

"You feel real," he said.

"That's because I _am_ real, you git!" Hermione replied.

"Oh, really?" He sounded amused. "Then what's your name?"

Hermione opened her mouth. She _knew_ her name. For some reason, however, she couldn't get the words out.

"See?" he said triumphantly. "I told you!"

"What's _your_ name, then?" she asked pointedly.

He made a funny face. Hermione glared at him. "Stop mocking me. It's not funny."

"I'm not!" he replied irritably. "I'm trying to say my name, but the blasted Room won't let me!"

"Fine. Call me whatever you like, but let's start brewing," Hermione said, changing the subject.

Instantly, a large cabinet filled with ingredients appeared beside the table, and a variety of supplies scattered themselves across the workstation.

They set to work. Hermione lit the flame under the cauldron while he diced and prepared ingredients. Hermione noticed that he deviated from the book, but when she pointed this out, he simply glared at her. This made her snippy and irritable, especially when the potion achieved the proper consistency and colour in a fraction of the normal time.

"It'll still need to simmer and then cool for the usual amount of time," he said, worrying at his lower lip. "Still working on that one."

"So that's what all that writing is for, then?" Hermione asked, taking a closer look at the open page he'd been referring to on his side of the table.

He shrugged. "It's a bit of a hobby."

She gave him a disbelieving look. She knew an obsession when she saw one.

"Ok, you caught me," he admitted. "I—I just can't NOT change it when I find a superior methodology."

"I think I know what you mean," Hermione replied, thinking back to her low-level obsession with improving Ancient Runes. It didn't require a wand and generally wouldn't accidentally blow up her room if she tinkered with them during the summer months.

They washed their hands and cleaned up their workstation, casting a charm to chime when the potion was ready. Then, they enjoyed some tea and snacks on the other side of the room.

"So… It seems like the Room doesn't want you to know who I am," Hermione said, after finishing her third sandwich. She was particularly impressed with the fact that none of the sides had even a hint of crust on it. "Don't you think that's odd?"

"Magic is often odd," he replied.

"Oh? And what happened to 'you're just a figment of my imagination'?" she asked.

He seemed to squirm under her gaze for a moment. "I—I've used the Room before. To talk—to a former friend. She—well, it doesn't matter now. I'm unforgivable, apparently."

"You had the Room summon up a doppelgänger? Why?" Hermione leveled him with a suspicious look even as her heart started to ache. Even here, far from the rest of the lovesick nonsense of her peers, she was being brought face to face with the fact that everyone she knew desired another.

"I-it's not what you think!" he stammered. "I take it back. I bet you're not real anyway. The Room's just being mischievous."

"That's ridiculous!" Hermione hissed. "I am real! I _am_! I'm not just some walking encyclopedia who only exists to keep her friends from failing classes!"

"Well, if you don't want your friends taking advantage of you, then maybe you should _let_ them fail!" he shouted.

They were practically nose to nose, their eyes crackling with anger behind their masks.

"You're one to talk!" Hermione snapped, "You're so desperate that you asked the room to create a soulless shell when the real one left you!"

"Yeah, and just look how well that's working out for me!" he retorted with a sneer.

Their masks were pressing together as they faced off against one another. A strange sort of hysteria gripped at Hermione's belly, then, and hot tears were dripping down her cheeks before she realised what was happening. His eyes were wide as he stared back at her, frozen.

"I said—I wasn't—going to cry—" she stuttered, screwing her eyes closed. She took deep breaths, trying to stop her eyes from doing the one thing she'd been trying to hold back all day, to no avail.

Then, thin arms wrapped around her, and she felt herself being pressed into his herbal-scented robes. He held her awkwardly, patting her back, and at first, this gesture of sympathy made her cry harder. They stayed like that for a long time, and Hermione found that letting out her bitterness and sadness actually wasn't the world-ending experience she'd expected it to be. Her tears subsided, and she felt tired inside, but surprisingly— _good_. Not necessarily happy, of course, but the weight on her heart was gone.

"Thanks," she said awkwardly as he released her. She looked up at him and her eyes went wide with shock. His mask was gone. She felt for her mask and headdress and found that it, too, was gone. She felt oddly naked without it.

"I'm Hermione," she rasped. "Hermione Granger."

His cheeks went pink as she looked down and found that he'd been subconsciously holding one of her hands.

"I'm—er—Severus," he said, pulling his hand away and tugging at his sleeve self-consciously. "Severus Snape."

Hermione gaped at him. _That_ was the reason his voice was so familiar, though it held none of the weight or menace that it would have one day. The Professor Snape she knew was at least two decades older than she was. The scrawny boy before her couldn't be more than a year or two older than her.

"So," he said, laughing awkwardly, "I guess you really _are_ real. You must be a year under me. And in Gryffindor to boot. Of all the luck…"

Hermione simply continued to stare.

He frowned. "What? Is there something on my face?"

"I _know_ you," she said, finally, her voice filled with wonder. She wondered briefly if perhaps Professor Snape had a son that she didn't know about. "Or—perhaps I know your father?"

Severus frowned. "I don't think so. He's a Muggle."

Hermione reddened, her mind racing. "Can you tell me what year it is?" she asked.

He scoffed at her. "Is this a trick question?"

"No. Please, just—humor me." Hermione realised she was twisting her hair anxiously.

"It's early March, 1978," he replied. "Why?"

"That can't be right," she replied, feeling her belly swoop.

He opened his mouth, about to ask a question, when the timer charm chimed loudly, causing them both to jump. They quickly sped over to the lab side of the room and added the final ingredients, stirring and removing the potion from heat to cool down.

The whole time, the two of them worked seamlessly together. Every time her hands brushed against his or their bodies slid against one another, they both went scarlet, but they were efficient with their work. When they finished, they both decanted a portion of their final product into a vial and inspected it carefully for scent, colour, and viscosity.

"It's absolutely perfect!" they both said simultaneously, which caused them both to giggle and blush, which lowered to a soft snicker.

"I must be honest," he said, "I wish you were in the seventh year class. Maybe then I could actually work on the potions projects without feeling like pulling my hair out every ten minutes. I'm usually partnered with Frank Longbottom, you see, and he's an absolute— _hey_ , what's so funny?"

Hermione had broken down into a horrendous case of the giggles. She wasn't sure if it was the impossibility of it all or the fact that she finally knew where Neville's horrendous potions performance came from, if such a thing was indeed hereditary.

"Would it be alright if I came back here?" she asked. "To practice with you—or maybe just—to get away from things for a little while?"

He seemed stunned for a moment but recovered quickly. "I'd—like that."

She took his hand in hers, then, and he went very still, watching her closely. She pulled his hand up to cup her cheek and leaned into it, savouring the slightly rough texture of his palm and the light herbal scent of his skin. For a moment, she closed her eyes, remembering the comfort of his arms around her and then smiled. "Would you mind staying here with me? Just for awhile, mind. I—I don't think I'm ready to go back to—out there."

"I can—relate."

They both glanced at the door with identical reluctant expressions and sat next to one another on the couch. Hermione leaned into his arm and he began to read from one of his library books on ancient Scottish healing poultices. Hermione drifted off listening to the soothing sound of his voice. When she awoke, she was alone, and it was terribly past curfew. A folded piece of parchment lay on the table next to her, and she placed it securely in her bag to read later. She knew that nobody would believe that she'd visited with someone from another time, much less a young Severus Snape.

It was only when she opened the door that she saw a shadowy figure skulking next to one of the coats of arms. He came to her in his customary whispering, silent manner; more like a shadow than an actual person. He stared down at her, the groove between his eyebrows prominent and furrowed. Then, silently, he cupped her cheek in one hand, just as he had before, and stroked it gently with his thumb.

"I'm sorry," he said gruffly. "You came to see me every single day for that final year. You became—more to me than I ever could have imagined. After, I did the figures. Before, I could wait, because you hadn't—we _hadn't_ —but tonight—I couldn't stop myself any longer. I promise—I won't…"

Hermione saw the intensity in his eyes and was filled with a sense of understanding. It had only been a few hours for her, but for him, it had been almost a lifetime.

She covered his hand with hers and pressed her cheek more firmly against his palm before looking up at him, a tentative smile on her face. Then, before he could blink, she stood up on her tiptoes and kissed him softly on his thin, cool lips until he melted into her, gasping her name in delight.

For the first time in ages, Hermione felt the prick of happy tears fill the corners of her eyes. Now, she didn't need to hold anything back at all.


End file.
